


Ease My Mind

by bigcitydreamer98



Category: Gossip Girl (TV 2007)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:53:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27184096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigcitydreamer98/pseuds/bigcitydreamer98
Summary: The Spectator is thriving. His financial reports are through the roof. Just his name exudes the dignified prestige his family has always wanted for him. Nate Archibald has checked off every indicator of success, yet he's unsatisfied. He missed the uncertainty, the excitement, the fight of proving himself apart from his checkbook.Professionally at the top of the world, but personally, still the same confused boy in a St. Jude's uniform, Nate leaves to go to Europe to take a break from it all. He never would've expected to stumble upon someone from his past, a what-if that was never given its proper closure.
Relationships: Nate Archibald/Blair Waldorf
Comments: 7
Kudos: 20





	1. A Dusty Green Sweater

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I've been rewatching Gossip Girl during quarantine and inspiration struck. It just made me remember how big a Nair fan I was back in middle school. 
> 
> If you are still keeping the GG fandom alive, kudos to you! 
> 
> As a note, and to give this some context, Blair and Chuck never got married, nor had quite the history that the TV show developed. Serena and Dan never got married and Dan is not Gossip Girl.

There have been few constants in Nate Archibald’s life. For many years, he thought his parents were one of them, but years of gilded success melted away with a morning paper, his father’s face strewn across the front page. 

Nate never skydived before, but he would imagine it would feel as those months did, falling fast and hard towards complete and utter catastrophe. His grandfather was the one to pull on the parachute, saving him and his family from their inevitable fall from grace.

He was once sure his best friend, the infamous Chuck Bass, with a name as powerful as his wallet, was going to be his confidant until they were old and gray, trading joints for cigars and the school alleyways for lavish balconies. 

You didn’t have to check Gossip Girl to know that they had a relationship as tenuous as the gusty Atlantic, which Nate had chosen to escape to time and time again. He was doing so now, resting on his boat in the harbor of Nice, his summer childhood stomping ground.

Nate once thought the four of them would be inseparable forever, a bond that was strengthened by hard alcohol at too young of an age and gossip that could kill, tucked away in their back pockets. 

He would often reminisce about how very easy it used to be. They would grab dinner at Le Bernardin or Per Se, dropping hundreds as easy as the gin and tonics they used to wash down their traumas. Their futures were bright, secure, and profitable. Chuck and his suits wafted wealth and Blair and Serena, two different sides of the same upbringing, donned fabrics lush to the touch, straight from the runway. 

They were invincible, he was sure of it.

And now, years later, Nate felt far too human than he had ever thought was possible. That he was ever comfortable with.

From the age of 12, Nate thought his life was set, just like acts in a performance – every movement perfect, every action rehearsed. Blair was his other presumed constant. He would marry her – headbands and all. 

He often wondered if to Blair, a part of their relationship was her wanting to play house with him, just like how she used to play with dolls in elementary school. The doting girlfriend, who would sew hearts on his sleeves and would help him tie his ties, was a role that she was ready for far before he was.

He was her future, the physical exemplification of a sense of security, of knowing that everything would be okay. Even if her parents divorced, even if her mom was left to pick up the pieces, even if all she could think of was how much she ate for dinner, how perfect Serena was – Nate would be there. Nate would always be there. 

He chose her and not many people did.

Nate often blames himself for ruining her fairytale because even though it was written in pink pens and stationary paper, hidden under Blair’s bed, if not for him and his idiocy, he was sure that her fairytale would’ve come true. 

She wasn’t asking for a country to rule or a thousand castles to her name. Yes, she did talk about being the center of the Upper East Side scene and she did talk about the minions she would choose to help her once she became chair of Anne Archibald’s charity, but those were never in her scrapbooks. 

It was her and Nate – the perfect prom, the perfect college experience, the perfect children. 

Though Blair wanted adoration, from minions or socialites or whomever, in the safety of her scrapbooks, all she wanted was love. Nate was the one to give her that.

Nate used to take comfort in the scrapbooks too. Blair would make the graceful transition from the Queen of Constance to the Queen of socialites and upper echelon society. They would go to Yale together. He would join the rowing team and she would take over God knows how many on-campus organizations. 

She probably wouldn’t have joined a sorority because that meant mixing with just about everyone and drinking White Claws on the weekend. 

No, out of Yale’s 41 secret societies, she would probably make it into the most elite through favors or schemes or money. Either way, they would find their place in college, and together they would conquer.

He would propose with his family’s ring when they had finished their degrees. A wedding in the Hamptons, with flowers flown in from the most beautiful places in the world. 

Once he was settled in his career and she was running a fashion empire even larger than the one she inherited, they would have a family.

A little Blair with a closet that would need its own floor and a little Nate who would instantly have a spot on St. Jude’s lacrosse team. They would host lavish parties and go to alumni events at Yale together, wearing Yale blue and rubbing elbows with distinguished alumni. 

She was supposed to be his constant, but her scrapbooks and 5-year plans are like a distant memory. Just childhood fairytales that never seemed anything but certain at the time.

And so here he was, 24 and on the other side of the world, escaping for a time before he would have to fall back to reality. In just a few months, he was set to start planning for his campaign for mayor of his great city. For now, he was relaxing, or at least that’s what he was telling himself he was doing.

He tried to tuck the idea of the life he was supposed to live to the back of his mind, like a certain green sweater hidden in the back of his closet in New York – but try as you may, the sweater will always be there, waiting for him to dust it off and remember the time he thought he was untouchable, his future ensured.

Some may say that he was hiding, and he couldn’t blame them. It was an abrupt trip, but at that point The Spectator was such a well-oiled machine that he wasn’t needed in the office every day as he had been when he first took the reins.

It wasn’t like he dreaded going to work. Truly he didn’t. It was more a looming sense of dissatisfaction coupled with pride. While to many these would seem like opposite emotions, they blended into such an alarming concoction for Nate that his only choice was to do something. 

The Spectator was doing well, and it had gotten to a point where he wasn’t fighting anymore for financial backing or features, or anything really. He missed the uncertainty, the excitement, the fight, but for the first time in a long time, he acknowledged the security of it all. 

In some ways, he liked it. Mainly, he was proud that it was his own – something that he worked for and wasn’t just given to him on a silver platter, coupled with a trust fund.

In others, he hated it. He no longer felt fulfilled. His emails meant nothing. His calls were mainly to prove that he was still the face of the newspaper. It wasn’t a challenge.

Six years out of high school and he sometimes felt like that lost boy who couldn’t tell you what he wanted if his life depended on it. Sometimes he wished he could just be thrown in the middle of an unknown country without a dollar to his name – anything that would make him fend for himself, to prove that he didn’t peak with The Spectator. 

Nate decided on Nice, France. It wasn’t the middle of a jungle in who knows where, but it was an adventure, even if a familiar adventure at that.

He was on his second week in Nice, spending a few nights on his boat and a few nights in his mother’s family’s chateau. 

While he couldn’t speak French in the slightest – despite his years of listening to Blair recite lines from classic French literature and even taking a class or two in the language while at St. Jude’s, Nate seemed to get by in Nice, if only for good looks alone. 

And the help of Google Translate. 

And so, he got to know the locals, sampling the wine, learning what fruit was in season and what he should avoid. He got used to the knowledge that he was on his own, self-sufficient, self-made. 

In the mornings, he answered a few work calls and responded to a couple of emails, but by noon, he was free.

He didn’t like spending too much time in that colossal house all by himself. It was different when he was growing up, when all the cousins would jet over for the summer, in between school and work. The house would feel alive and like a village of its own. There would always be someone on the tennis courts, or by the pool, mixing drinks in the kitchen, or catching up on American sports in one of the living rooms. 

Now, it was just Nate. Granted, it was winter, and he knew coming over that it would probably be empty, but he hated hearing the gentle thumps of his own feet in the hallway. He much preferred when they used to be drowned out by conversations, usually arguments, running children or blasting televisions. Just another reminder that it was him and him alone.

In high school, he would’ve loved this solitude. He hardly ever had a chance to sit and be present with himself. It was always lacrosse or Chuck, Blair, and Serena, teachers or even copious parties. It would’ve been a relief to be alone, for a boy who really didn’t have any clue who he was or why he was gifted this life that few others had.

Now, it was lonely and silent and overbearing. He spent the majority of his time on his boat or in the town, anything that wasn’t the stillness of the chateau. 

He ran on the Promenade des Anglais, the city on one side and the vast Mediterranean on the other, blasting music to drown out his thoughts. 

He picked up lunch at the Cours Saleya Market, grabbing a traditional socca for the road. The smiles the merchants would give him would imprint in his memory, a genuine kindness that he sometimes lacked in such a dog eat dog world.

He even got into live football at OGC Nice. 

Nate filled his days so his nights wouldn’t feel so utterly lonely.

It wasn’t his prerogative to make friends, for he knew that soon enough he would have to go back home. In some ways, he didn’t want to disrupt the lives here, to try to insert himself into a friendship that was so idyllic from the outside. Just a simple smile from the produce merchant was enough for him, at least for the moment.

He didn’t walk up to the guys watching sports at the bar or the friends having lunch by the water. He enjoyed the knowledge that they probably didn’t have to deal with fact that some would befriend them for influence or money or a mix of the two. True friendships, no backstabbers or social climbers. 

While Nate could totally be wrong about the people here and have this stereotypical and idealized view of what life was like here, he chose ignorance and fairytales.

Nice was a place where his reputation didn’t precede him, no matter if he was regarded as an angel sent from heaven or the devil himself. He fit into the crowds, just another American tourist on an Eat Pray Love journey.

He was part of the mass, an extra in someone else’s story. He was invisible, whether he reveled in it or detested it. It changed by the day.

That’s why he never expected to see her, to be brought back to his reality, the life he was hiding from not at all too gracefully.

She was there, with a dress that probably cost more than a month’s wages and a familiarity that he had forgotten he longed for.

“Blair?”


	2. Allons-y

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a long one! 
> 
> lostinberlin - Thanks for reviewing! I definitely agree. I'm selfishly using this fic to explore what might've happened if they were given a fighting chance.

Blair never expected to be in France for this long. It was the usual this turned into that turned into that type situation. 

She came over in the Fall, first to Paris and then to Lyon, where her father and Roman owned a chateau and vineyard. For the first few weeks, she hardly had a chance to notice the way the Eiffel Tower twinkled at night from her window, for the moment Blair’s head would hit the pillow, she was out cold.

It was Paris Fashion Week in the beginning of October and naturally, like every Fashion Week, it was a blur. Fabrics and hemlines, labels and photographers. In some ways, she missed the days when she would get to sit front row. Her only care was figuring out how to be the first one to get her hands on a piece.

Now, Fashion Week was synonymous with stress in a different way.

Her New Year’s resolution was to kick her coffee habit, but Fashion Week made it impossible. There was always a dress that needed hemming or an assistant that needed a talking to. 

Nevertheless, like clouds belong in the sky, Blair Waldorf belongs in Paris. 

While LA agreed with Serena, with beach blown waves and a golden tan, Blair and France just made sense. Maybe it was her French accent, which she had perfected years ago, or her sense of sharp modernity without sacrificing the classics. Whatever the case, if she didn’t love New York as much as she did, Blair could see herself getting on a plane and never going back.

The plan was to go back to New York after Fashion Week, but being Blair, she managed to arrange a multitude of meetings with journalists, buyers, and distributors. Her time in France was extended indefinitely. 

It was a relief the espresso was so good because she was constantly scheduled for meetings over coffee. Armed with a notepad and an assortment of pens, Blair would have to scribble most everything down out of fear that she would forget even the tiniest of details. No room for error, ever.

On a single day, she would move from office to office, picking fabrics, debating marketing strategies, and being the best Blair she could be. “Emily in Paris” got it wrong. There was no time to be kissing boys and taking trips to romantic vineyards. Blair was lucky if she had time to sneak dinner at Benoit before she was rushed to her next appointment.

If she wasn’t so busy, she might admit that she was always teetering on the edge of instability. While she looked like she didn’t have a hair out of place, Blair was too focused, too determined, too successful. 

Her job was everything and that was the single biggest problem she had at the time. The was simply no room for anything else.

Meditation? Not a chance. Even when she was moving from place to place, she was on a million different phone calls. There was never a second to process a thought of her own.

Sleep? We already went over that. Any sleep she got would always be coupled with the fact that she would most definitely have to get up in a handful of hours at the most. 

Health? Well, physically, Blair was fine. She walked the streets of Paris for her lunch break or biked in the gardens at dusk, still while multitasking because this is Blair we are talking about. 

Mentally, she was all over the place, but what else was new? Therapy had never agreed with her and if she just compartmentalized everything, she could push it off another month, another quarter, another year. 

Friends and family? That’s a hard one.

First, there was her mother, who was secure in her general retirement. General in the sense that although she wasn’t at the office every day, she would find out if even a printer was out of service at Waldorf Headquarters and report back to Blair in an instant. 

Eleanor had her own life with Cyrus - A life apart from Blair except for the occasional dinner and drinks.

Harold had his own life too, with Roman. Although Blair had a room in their house and an open invitation, he wasn’t going to be her daily confidant. 

Serena was in Los Angeles now, trying out the acting thing to little success as of yet, but this was Serena. She’d be a superstar in no time. Their friendship was no longer enclosed in Blair’s New York apartment, only separated by a conjoined bathroom. Even when Blair was in New York, where she had spent pretty much all of her time until this Paris trip, it was obvious she and Serena became two separate entities a long time ago. 

It shouldn’t have come as a surprise. Serena was too wild to be pinned down, always one for whirlwind romances and jet setting to here and there. Blair was always different – more focused, more particular. Still, she missed her friend and the comfort of knowing that no matter how many times they stabbed one another in the back, eventually one of them would go running back to the other.

Chuck was a little different. Even though was still in New York, unlike Serena, their relationship had history, betrayal, and open wounds. She couldn’t go to him and vent about how her new assistant ordered two of the same kinds of fabric even though she had specifically reminded her to double check the order form. 

There was too much life between the two of them – from his violent reaction to the news of her engagement to Louis (which ended in disaster) to him selling a night with her for a hotel. While she could come to terms with most, she couldn’t give her heart to him anymore.

They were too similar to have ever worked out, too volatile to ever be more than occasional friends at best, business acquaintances at most. Their relationship used to be fireworks, but it blew up everything in its path. Too evil. Too emotional. Too much. Like fireworks do, they are electric and then they fizzled and before long, they were a distant memory.

And so, they had dinner ever so often. He would text her when positive reviews on her newest collections would spill across NYT pages and she would send him his favorite Cuban cigars when Bass Industries stock prices would reach record highs. It was comfortable medium for them. 

For Blair, Chuck wasn’t there at the end of the night, nor Serena.

Some might assume that her minions were her confidants, but they were too maniacal to trust fully and completely. Her minions were minions, nothing more. They still doted on her and schemed with her. They scoured for gossip as a miner searches for gold, but come nightfall, when Blair was ready to strip from the makeup and the heels and the political agendas, she didn’t want the minions. 

Dan. Blair sometimes scrunched her nose at the thought of a Waldorf Humphrey friendship even though they did much more than friends would ever do. She knew that he was still standing in the wings for her. When she had to make a choice between Chuck and Dan, she had chosen herself and her business. While Chuck had accepted the choice – be it that it would be one that he himself might have made, Dan never reached an ounce of finality. 

Blair was the muse, and she often wondered if that’s all she might be to him – the ice queen with a heart. The trust fund bitch with a brain. She was an anomaly in this world, someone too smart for her own good, too beautiful to ever doubt her worth and yet, to few, Dan included, they saw her as insecure and constantly scared that someone would take her place in a heartbeat.

Did he love her or the idea of her? Blair could never get a clear reading.

In some ways she loved him, but the same could be said about Chuck.

She loved Chuck’s brain because it aligned with her own. He would scheme and plot and take down those that stood in his way, much like Blair was known for. They had grown up around volatile social politics and it’s no wonder that they learned malice quickly.

Dan – she loved Dan’s intellect for they could talk about classic European cinema for hours without tiring. It was rare to find someone with a love of learning as sharp as her own. He would never get bored when she made him go to gallery openings or black and white films or book talks. 

They could be pompous intellects together and all would be right in the world. In many ways, she assumed that he would be the one. By the time things settled with Waldorf Designs, if they ever did, he would be there. In some ways, it was a comfort and in others, it was a burden. 

But, he chose her over Serena. He waited for her. Heck, he wrote a whole novel about her. Maybe he was her one.

When INSIDE came out, it was as surprising to her as everyone else that she was the protagonist, the main love interest, the chosen girl. Sometimes she wonders if she loves how much he loves her more than she loves Dan himself.

At this point, he’s still a close friend, though without breaking the boundary between friendship and relationship, she wonders how long she’ll have until she must confront the obvious. He is in love with her and she doesn’t know what she wants.

And Nate, what to say about the boy she once was sure she was going to marry? They hadn’t spoken except the occasional “Happy Birthday!” or “Congratulations on –this success- or –that success.” Blair often wondered if they were ever friends or if they just became a couple so quickly that they missed that stage. It’s entirely possible because when you grow up on the UES, you grow up far too quickly.

Age is but a number.

Still, whenever that thought would pop into her head while she was lying in her bed at 3AM, trying to fall asleep, it would leave just as quickly as it had arrived. They were friends. They used to be the best of friends. So close that a relationship just felt easier, as if their friendship was too strong to be just that.

Blair didn’t think about Nate often, well, she didn’t think of many of her past friendships or relationships often. Her job required her to live in the future, to anticipate what was next, what was always coming.

In some ways, she wished she dwelled more in the past, but what’s done is done.

Her sense for the future was what made her come to Nice in the first place. She was on a business trip to a meet a local designer to see if he would like to collaborate on a collection. It was for work, as much everything was.

Since she was in the area, it was a given that after the meeting, she just had to visit the Musée Marc Chagall. As she turned the corner, ready to make her way from the street to the entrance, a familiar voice called out her name.

“Blair?”

She turned around, the folds of her dress bunching together with the sudden velocity then settling down in soft layers. He looked the same, maybe slightly tanner and maybe slightly more casual than his typical suits and slacks. Still, he was Nate alright. The blue eyes and the lean figure, the welcoming smile and the good guy essence.

“Nate, my God, what are you doing here?” She went in for an immediate hug, her heels clacking on the pavement as she barreled towards him – elegantly of course. He looked relaxed, at home even, as he stood in the center of the cobblestone road, hands in his pockets and watch set to Central European Standard Time.

“I can say the same thing to you! Small world.” Nate gestured towards one of the benches, a welcome invitation. As they sat, Blair placed her bag next to her, not on the ground – never on the ground. 

Nate noticed, his lips upturning in the slightest grin. It was nice to know that some things never change.

“The chateau was free for a while.” At the mention of the family abode, it all came flooding back to Blair. Yes, she had been to the family mansion time and time again, though, if she was being honest, she hadn’t thought about her summers there in years. 

Even when she had her passport in hand and Nice on her schedule, she still hadn’t associated the city with juvenile summers of her youth. 

“You remember it right?” Nate questioned, “I figured I needed to get away from it all for a little bit. I’m sure you could understand. So, I flew out here with the intention of only staying for a week, but here I am, still hanging around.”

It was funny to see him here, settled and comfortable. Truth be told, he was never a Paris boy himself. He used to much prefer London. As a preteen, the escargot really freaked him out and he couldn’t understand French to save his life.

Maybe some things do change. He looked at home here.

Blair briefly recalled how she used to laugh at him as his mop of blond hair tangled in the Mediterranean breeze, flopping this way and that, so that the only remedy was for her to push them all to the side. She used to order at the markets, with him looking dumbfounded at her while she spoke a language that sounded so alien to him. After a while, it did feel calming, listening to her ramble on about who knows what in a language different than his own. 

Some people like to listen to ocean waves to fall asleep. Nate used to believe that the sound of Blair speaking French would do the trick much more effectively. Comforting. Calm. Reassuring. A constant.

Before she got too caught up in the web of memories tied to this city, she took her chance to respond. “Admittedly, this trip has been more work for me than play. Entitled merchants, temperamental models, annoying distributors. Actually, it’s not that different than back home.”

He let out a soft chuckle. Leave it to Blair to still be stressed in her favorite country, miles away from the Upper East Side and its shenanigans. 

“New country, same Blair,” Nate responded, which received an appropriate eye roll, “It’s good to see you.” And when he said it, she knew he meant it. 

It wasn’t like an UES socialite who would say, “Oh, Blair, it was so nice running into you!” Those connections felt courteous, commonplace, meaningless. Just remnants of social etiquette that was instilled in UES society from birth.

Nate, on the other hand, felt sincere. There’s something different you have with someone you’ve known for that long. Blair had seen Nate through voice changes and growth spurts. She had seen him fail tests and have his first drink. Yes, it was good to see him. It was always good to see him.

He was the one who saw her cry when her father moved out. She was there when his father was taken away. He knew there was a person under her schemes even if she would never admit it. 

Despite the long length of time since they had last seen one another in person, the familiarity clicked instantly. In a world of reputational fragility, it was a comfort knowing that she wasn’t another big name to impress for him. She wasn’t a checkbook or an opportunity.

She was the girl who used to cry when the flowers would wilt come winter.

“Oh, Nate, are you getting soft on me? Old age has changed you,” Blair responded in her classic Blair way.

Nate did try to qualify his sincerity with a snarky response. “What I mean to say is that it’s good to see you because the house has been so empty these few weeks. I’ve just been in desperate need of some human contact.”

“So, all you really needed was a warm body for all your socializing needs,” Blair retorted, with a playful anger that she had perfected a decade ago. 

“Not in so many words,” the convivial Nate returned in an instant, “Are you staying around for long?” Nate asked more for himself than for innocent curiosity. 

Even though Blair represented the life he was escaping from (if only for a couple of weeks), she was also someone that knew him, that grounded him in this endless city where he could blend in rather seamlessly. A friend. Nate could use a friend.

“Just until the end of the week if all goes according to plan,” Blair responded, automatically recalling all the things she had to do once she arrived back in New York. Top of her list – find a new assistant who made fewer mistakes with time zone differences. Maybe she could get Penelope to step in.

He quickly dispelled her small burst of anxiety. “Time for at least a bite to eat?” It was pure, a peace offering, a gesture.

Innocent. What Blair liked most about Nate is that any emotional baggage was long forgotten and forgiven. The time of high school was gone and at this point, they were just old friends. No selling her for a hotel. No ticking time bomb until she had to define the relationship.

He was a friend and while she couldn’t quite put her finger on why it felt so utterly light, she wondered if it was because they had no expectations of one another. It felt refreshing, like her favorite macarons by her side during a candlelit bath.

It felt like home.

“How could I say no to that?” Blair responded, “Allons-y.” She picked up her bag and got to her feet, Nate right on her heels.

“Allons-y,” he mimicked her, as he increased his pace to keep up. Small but fast, that Blair.

“Catching up on some French, are you?” She questioned, turning her head to look at him.

Nate laughed. “That’s all I’ve got. I can also do ‘oui’ if you need me to.”

“All this time in France and you’ve still never studied the language. I’m guessing that means I’m ordering for both of us like old times?”

“Oui.” 

“You’re an idiot.” Blair hit him playfully, a smile already on her face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love to hear your thoughts! I don't have a plan for this story so any suggestions or things you would like to see would be greatly appreciated. 
> 
> I'm just rolling with the flow!

**Author's Note:**

> As always, please comment. I'd love to know that some Nair fans are still out there!


End file.
